


The Reckless and The Brave

by thekitgregoryblog



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson Friendship, Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers Friendship, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, F/M, Frenemies Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson, Friendship/Love, Light Angst, M/M, Marvel Universe, Original Character(s), POV Original Character, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Civil War (Marvel), Protective Steve Rogers, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Some Humor, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson Friendship, Tragedy/Comedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-18 12:16:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7314829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekitgregoryblog/pseuds/thekitgregoryblog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Yeah… You do realize that what you’re saying sounds impossible, right?” I moved the other two glasses out of his reach, placing the bottle of vodka back on the shelf and hoping he was too out of it to notice. </p>
<p>He chuckled but didn’t smile. “What I am, what I can do, should be impossible. Hell, it should even be impossible for me to have a metal arm but stranger has happened.” </p>
<p>I stared at him, having absolutely no response for what he just said and he looked up at me directly for the first time. Even though his eyes were hazy from the effects of the alcohol, I could tell that he believed was he was saying. A moment of tension hung taut between us. I had two options; call the cops to come pick up a crazy drunk or play his game.</p>
<p>“Prove it.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Drunk

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys, so this is my first fanfiction in the marvel universe or about any marvel character in general, so bear with me (also feel free to point out any mistakes in my characters or anything like that). also, i know that it's not stucky (how sad right D:) but I hope that you'll give it a chance because i really put my all into it and i wanted to showcase bucky in a way that didn't revolve around steve. I wanted to give bucky some of his own light & kinda give some insight into how he feels & how he's recovering from a person that hasn't known him from the beginning. so i hope you guys enjoy & tell me what you think in the comments! -kate

“Hey, sweetie! Could we get another round of Bud Lights over here?” 

I sighed and turned to face the voice. A man who was obviously very drunk grinned lazily back at me, his face red from the four previous beers he had consumed in the last twelve minutes, and his posture suggested he was feeling bold. His friends that were slumped around him laughed as if what he said was hilarious, some giving me a once over that made me want to take a long shower. Assholes. 

I forced a sultry smile. “Course, babe.”

He looked comically triumphant at that. He turned back to his friends and was greeted by rounds of slurred cheers and drunken declarations of douchebag-ery. I rolled my eyes. Checking the clock on the bottom of the tv screen that was currently playing the latest big deal football game, my headache pounded as I realized that I was nowhere near getting off my shift. I glanced back at the guys as I arranged the beers on a tray to take out to them and saw one of them ogling the ass of a girl at the table next to them, quite openly and without shame. Whereas I felt no shame in sticking the lime in my mouth for a quick whirl before putting it in the stout of his beer bottle. 

“Here’s these for you guys.” I set the tray down on the table in front of them, just barely managing a smile as I leaned over to do so. Several pairs of drunken eyes swerved over to my chest and I resisted the urge to pull the up the neck of my tank top. 

The man who had spoken first raised his voice once again as I turned to walk away. “Not so fast, baby girl.” He hiccuped and pushed a twenty down the back pocket of my jeans. “Couldn’t let you leave without a tip.”

I gritted my teeth and plastered that grin back on my face, stepping away before he could cop a feel. I felt a small bout of victory in knowing that they were probably drinking some portion of spit at that moment. 

Making my way back to the bar, I saw Lola counting a stack of singles and inwardly groaned. I forgot; tonight was her night off early from work. She looked up and smirked as I came around behind her, stuffing the wad of dollars into her cleavage. “Tough crowd tonight, huh?”

“Don’t even talk to me about it.” I blew a few stray curls out of my face and leaned my elbows against the cool wood of the bar. I was almost tempted to take a nap right then and there. For about five years. 

Lola laughed and nudged me with her hip. “Come on, you’ll get through it. You always do.” She pulled a tube of lipstick out of her pocket and dabbed some onto her lips, the color a deep red. “Besides, I got myself a date tonight.”

I snorted. “Is it the guy from the big deal tv company? The one that’s trying to buy out Disney?”

“Mmhmm, and he’s gonna take me somewhere real nice.” She pulled her purse out from underneath the bar and dug around in it, pulling out a compact mirror. 

“Oh right. And then he’s going to take you out on his yacht, ask you to marry him and then whisk you away to one of his thirty homes.”

She checked the edges of her lipstick. “Thirty-two.”

“Whatever.”

“Trust me, I know what I’m doing this time.” She frowned and ran her finger along the side of her mouth, finding some miniscule flaw. 

“Lola, he’s playing you.” I sighed, propping my chin up on my fist. Lola was one of my only friends at work, probably the only person I could really tolerate, but her choice in men was not something I tended to encourage. “Disney’s richer than God so there’s no way his company, even if it is real, could buy them out.”

“Well, Ellie,” She mocked a condescending tone, a supposed imitation of mine. “Maybe you should get yourself a guy so you can focus on your own love life instead of mine.”

I raised my palms in surrender. “Point noted. Mickey Mouse will definitely not be involved though.”

She smacked my arm with her bag and I laughed quietly. A few more people entered the bar, giggling and stumbling over their feet and I suppressed a groan. The Lucky Irishman was a popular bar, hence the reason why I applied to work there, but sometimes it tended to under-staff on the weekends. Which meant that after Lola was gone, I would be the only bartender left to surrender myself to the masses. Thank God that the tips that I made during the night shift were enough to make up for cleaning vomit off the bathroom floor at 6 am. 

Lola slung her purse over her shoulder and leaned over to kiss my cheek. “You got this, babe.” She sauntered towards the exit, freedom at her will as soon as she set foot out the door and I was almost tempted to run after her. Instead, I tightened my pony tail and braced myself for a whole new wave of drunks to come crashing into the bar. 

When I checked the time at 3 am, the bar was unusually quiet. Especially for a Saturday. Normally some regulars would be sitting at the same seats they always did, or some rowdy college students would be partying it up and dancing on tabletops with their beers in hand, sloshing it everywhere. But tonight, it was just me, the bar, and Toby Keith. Well, not in the flesh but Mo, the owner, had a certain affection for country music and frequently made it mandatory that “Beer for my Horses” be played on repeat at the early hours of the morning. I found myself humming along as I ran a rag over the sticky counter, shimmying my hips as I made my way towards the end of the bar. The song played through at least three more times before someone walked through the door and sat themselves, taking off their baseball cap and setting it on the counter. 

I tossed the rag onto a table behind me and walked over to them. A man was running a hand through his hair, his expression exhausted and he slumped with his elbows braced against the counter. He looked up briefly as I came over and then ran his palm over his face, which was collecting a rough five o’clock shadow. “Three shots of the strongest liquor you have, please.”

I raised an eyebrow. He didn’t revise his statement so I shrugged and turned around to grab a bottle of vodka. He didn’t look up again until I sat the shot glasses in front of him and even then he looked as if it took all his strength to toss back the first glass. 

“You look like hell.” I said, watching carefully as he downed the other two shots in quicker succession that the first. 

He gave me a wry smile. “You could say I’ve been there and back.” Rubbing his throat with one hand, he nodded towards the bottle of vodka. “Three more, please.”

I poured the glasses full again and watched as he drank two of them one after the other. The third one went back with a curse mumbled under his breath. He coughed for a second after he set the glass down and hit his chest with his fist, wincing. I braced myself for any vomit that might be making its debut but all he said was, “Do you always play country music this early?”

“You wanna request something else?” I’m not usually a defender of country music, but I really didn’t want to deal with Mo yelling at me for turning off ‘the savior of modern sound’.

He raised his hands in surrender. “No, no, just wondering.” A slight Brooklyn accent laced his words and added a certain level of charm to his demeanor, however disheveled it was. Looking at him more closely, I decided that he was pretty cute for someone who seemed dead inside. Dark hair, brown eyes, and he wasn’t that tall but the size of his biceps kind of cancelled out that detail. Hmm, probably a pantydropper when showered and not planning on getting hammered alone in a bar. He nodded towards the bottle again. “Make it three more, please.”

By that point, any other guy his size would have been drunk off his ass and I was surprised to see that he downed the next three shots with ease. The tension in his shoulders began to release and he looked more at peace with whatever demons he was here to kill. 

As I poured him another round, he looked at the bottle with fascination and said, his accent becoming thicker, “You know, I haven’t had a drink like this since the war. Like, a good hard drink.”  
I paused. Something about his wording didn’t seem right. He didn’t look old enough to have served in the Vietnam War. “Were you serving overseas in Iraq recently?”

He shook his head and reached for the bottle himself this time. I let him, confused. “What war are you talking about?”

“World War II. Was a sergeant in the 107th Infantry Regiment.” He poured himself three more shots and finished them off as soon as he was done filling them. 

I was silent for a moment. Okay, maybe he was cute but he had to be out of his mind. He looked mid twenties, maybe thirty at the most, but certainly not old enough to have served in a war that happened nearly 70 years ago. I waited for him to laugh and say that he was joking, or something that would let me know that he wasn’t an escaped convict from an insane asylum. When nothing but him pouring another shot happened, I gently took the bottle back from him and warily asked my next question. “Okay… How old were you exactly when you joined the army?”

He thought about it while he turned the shot glass over in his hand. “I was 23… 24 maybe.”

“So, that would make you…” I did the math. “... around 99 years old.”

“You would be correct.” He sighed and set the shot glass down, still keeping his eyes on it. “And yet, I’m still alive. Funny how that works.” 

“Yeah… You do realize that what you’re saying sounds impossible, right?” I moved the other two glasses out of his reach, placing the bottle of vodka back on the shelf and hoping he was too out of it to notice. 

He chuckled but didn’t smile. “What I am, what I can do, should be impossible. Hell, it should even be impossible for me to have a metal arm but stranger has happened.” 

I stared at him, having absolutely no response for what he just said and he looked up at me directly for the first time. Even though his eyes were hazy from the effects of the alcohol, I could tell that he believed was he was saying. A moment of tension hung taut between us. I had two options; call the cops to come pick up a crazy drunk or play his game.

“Prove it.”

The man shrugged and stood from the stool, weaving his arms out from the sleeves of his jacket. Underneath he wore a worn green henley over top a t-shirt and on his hands, which I had previously paid little attention to, were cotton gloves. He tugged off the glove on his left hand, releasing a sheen of silver that threatened to knock the wind out of me. I was almost afraid to look closer as he tugged up the sleeve of his shirt. Protruding from that sleeve was a shiny silver forearm, connected to a matching hand that seemed to move just like a human one would. He moved back onto his stool and leaned the creation on the counter, leaving it open for me to see. 

“Holy shit..” I breathed. 

He shifted his eyes to me and managed to lift the corner of his mouth. “You’re telling me. You didn’t wake up and find it attached to your body one morning.”

I took a step closer to him. The metal arm glinted in the dim light of the bar and as I moved toward it, the man reached out and took hold of the shot glass again. I startled and jumped back away from him, causing him to laugh and say in a thick brooklyn accent, “It doesn’t bite, doll.”

“I know that. And I’m not your ‘doll’.” Who even says ‘Doll’ as a pet name anymore? 

“Alright, alright.” He paused and looked up at me, studying my face. I didn’t know why he would since he probably wouldn’t even remember me in the morning. “What’s your name, then?”

Cause giving the crazy drunk my name is a great idea. “Ellie.”

“That a nickname?”

“And if it is?”

He smiled, a real smile, for the first time since he came in. “Just curious.”

His smile was charming; warm and open. It was a rare thing to see in New York and especially in a bar like this, where everybody was either looking for a way to get hammered or laid. It was genuine and it almost made me feel bad for snapping at him just moments before. 

“Eleanor.”

“What?” His smile faltered for a moment, not expecting my answer.

“My full name is Eleanor. Like Eleanor Roosevelt.” 

He leaned back in his chair and looked off to the side, as if looking far away. “I remember reading about her in the papers, hearing her speak on the radio.” He turned back to me and grinned. “Good lady to be named after.”

That smile got me again, damn it. “So, what’s your name?”

He opened his mouth to say something but closed it after a moment, then opened it again. “James Barnes.” He hiccupped and I could see that the alcohol was getting the better of him with every minute. I noticed the imprint of a key ring in the pocket of his jeans, and I guessed that he hadn’t just stumbled in here of his own accord. 

I nodded towards the keys. “You drive here yourself?” 

“Yeah. My bike’s parked out back.” Somehow I had the feeling he wasn’t talking about your regular run of the mill Schwinn. 

“Well, no offence, but we tend to close up pretty soon, and I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to let you ride home like this.”

James leaned against the counter, grinning like a fox. “What? You worried about me getting hurt?”

“No, I’d rather you smash your pretty face on someone else’s sidewalk.”

He laughed, a bit louder than before, and ran a hand through his hair. “Aren’t you charming.”

I shrugged. “Never said so. You want me to call you a cab?” 

“No, no.” He shook his head, the smile gone from his face. “I can get home fine.”

“I’m not letting you ride your motorcycle home.” More so for the fact that if he really is insane and drunk, he shouldn’t be out roaming the streets. 

Blowing air through his nose, he sighed and dug in the other pocket of his pants, pulling out an old flip phone. Probably from the Jurassic Period. He opened it and fumbled around for a few minutes before tossing it onto the counter. “I can’t work the damn thing.”

“... You really must be from the forties.” I gently picked up the phone and flipped it open again. As I went to his contacts, I found that he only had three: 911, 411, and Steve. I glanced at him sideways, finding him staring at some point on the counter, looking intoxicated and desolate. No wonder he wanted to get drunk. I pressed the button to dial Steve and leaned over the counter. “1-800-Steve now calling.” 

He took the phone out of my outstretched palm and held it up to his ear, sighing through his nose once again. The fingers of his metal hand tapped against the counter, almost startling me for nothing more than the fact that it was just so bizarre and I forced myself to focus on anything else. 

“Hey, Stevie. Could you do me a favor?” Even without looking at him, I could hear the smile in his voice. Maybe it’s his boyfriend? Lover? Friend with benefits? 

“I’m stuck at a bar down in Manhattan. ...No, pal, no bad guys, just a nice betty who’s too kind to let me fall on my ass.” Pal. Gotcha. “No, no, I’m not taking her home. She’s the bartender.”

He smiled at something “Stevie” said and then said goodbye, hanging up the phone. Looking up at me, he shoved the phone back in his pocket. “We’re over in Brooklyn, at least for a little while, so he’ll be over in a bit.”

I shrugged. “As long as he’s the one driving.”

James chuckled and slipped his arms back into his jacket. Part of me was relieved that I no longer had to see the contraption anymore. 

For the next half hour I busied myself with sweeping the floors, raking in cigarette butts and crumpled up napkins while he watched me from the bar. I kept him busy with a bottle of beer, since he’d asked for something to sip on, and pointedly set a glass of water next to it. He seemed to take the hint and tossed back a gulp every so often. While his drunkenness was clearing up, it was still pretty clear he was intoxicated. It baffled me as to why he hadn’t passed out after the first 6 shots. 

“Pretty girl like you got a fella?”

I paused my sweeping and looked up at him. He wore a curious look, halfway between a smirk and a frown. 

“I don’t date.”

He decided on the frown. “Oh?”

“It’s too complicated and messy.” I leaned against the broom, propping my elbow on top of the handle. “Besides, you’re not my type anyway.” 

“What is your type?” 

“Baby faced, innocent, probably a goody goody; you however, are none of the above.” 

He let out a laugh, tipping back his beer. Setting it down, he said, “You’d like Stevie, then. Gets all the ladies nowadays it seems like.”

“I don’t know. Maybe if you took a shower and looked like you didn’t want to drown your sorrows, you’d be a handsome devil.” I started sweeping again.

He opened his mouth to say something else, but the slam of the front door beat him to it. I looked over to see a skyscraper walking over towards both of us; all muscle and blue eyes. I expected the guy to have a menacing look on his face, but instead it was concerned and focused on the drunken fool at the bar. He crossed the floor to James in barely five steps and sighed, taking the beer from his hand. “You know what we said about drinking, Bucky.”

Bucky? Who the hell is Bucky? I raised an eyebrow at the both of them as James reached for his beer back, making an annoyed face. “I’m not a kid, Stevie. I’m allowed to have a goddamn drink.” 

Stevie, or Steve rather, took a look at the shot glasses sitting by the sink behind the bar and deduced that the beer probably wasn’t his only drink of the night. I felt a tinge of guilt for not putting those away earlier. “Yeah, one drink. Not a bottle’s worth of shots.”

“It’s not like I can get that drunk anyway.” James still held his beer in his hand but didn’t make a move to drink any more. After a moment’s hesitation, he set it back on the counter behind him with a thud. 

“Doesn’t mean you should drink until you’re sick, Buck. It won’t solve anything.” There was a tenderness in his voice that I didn’t expect coming from such a large man, but it seemed to ease the tension in his friend’s shoulders by a fraction. I felt slightly awkward just standing there watching their conversation and was about to turn away, until James made the mistake of shifting his eyes toward me for a half a moment.

Steve noticed and flipped around towards me, seeing me for the first time since he walked in. I froze, broom in hand, and I had the briefest feeling of a deer in headlights. His expression changed from from something slightly concerned and exasperated to one of surprise. He quickly masked it with an apologetic smile. “Sorry for barging in like that. I’m guessing you were the betty, I mean, bartender who advised him to get a ride?”

“Uh...yeah, that would be me.” Guess James had a point about Steve being my type. While his build would suggest otherwise, his face was as sweet as an all american apple pie. 

“Well, I should thank you. Not a lot of people would be as kind.” He relaxed into his smile and shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans, rocking back on his heels. Cute. 

I shook my head and waved off his compliment. “No need. Just wanted to make sure he wouldn’t have an accident getting home.” My gaze floated behind him to settle back on James. He was moving his stare back and forth from the wall to the floor as Steve and I had our conversation. I would’ve assumed he was bored if not for the fact that his left hand, which I now knew to be metal, was clenched tightly into a fist as his side. 

A line creased Steve’s forehead as he noticed my line of vision, but he said nothing. Digging into his back pocket, he produced a couple twenties and held them out to me, a sheepish look on his face. “Here’s this to cover his drinks. I hope that’s enough.”

“I can pay for my own drinks, Steve.” James spoke up from behind him and shoved his other hand into the inside of his jackets, his brow furrowed as he fumbled around for some type of bill. A defeated mask fell onto his face, presumably realizing his pockets were empty. His cheeks flushed a bright pink and contrasted the stubble growing steadily over his chin. 

I swallowed. “It’s okay.. It’s on the house.” Mo was gonna kick my ass for that later but I couldn’t just stand there looking at the both of them. Not in this situation, considering it was weird enough. 

Steve paused, looking back at James as his face continued to redden, and then tucked the money back into his jeans. A bit awkward himself, he put an arm around his friend’s shoulders and whispered something to him, then proceeded to usher him towards the doors. He turned around when they reached the exit and said with a kind smile, “Thank you again, really.” He seemed like he genuinely meant it too, even with the line still creased in his forehead. 

I nodded and started to sweep again. As the door shut behind them, I briefly caught James’ eye as he headed out into the night. Then they were both gone. 

And it was just me, the bar, and Toby once more.


	2. Bad Blood

It was around 5 am when I walked into the penthouse, and as soon as I set foot inside I knew I was gonna wish I was still at the bar. 

 

“Long night at work, El?” 

 

I suppressed a groan as I turned on the light to the kitchen. Sitting on top of the granite topped island was Genevieve, sipping on a bottle of Perrier as she swung her legs to and fro. I was hoping she’d have left for her workout by now but it was just my luck that our timing happened to line up. Thank you, Satan. 

 

Ignoring her, I tugged at the elastic keeping my mane of curls back from my face and dropped my bag into a chair next to her. She hated it when I didn’t answer her. It was the thing she had most in common with our father. 

 

“Come on, you can’t ignore me forever. We live together, dumbass.” She twirled the end of her braid around her finger, the dark red hair silky smooth around her finger. I opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water I had bought earlier from the drugstore before I had left for work. The sight of it caused Gen to wrinkle her nose in disgust, further fueling my annoyance with her. 

 

I took a long pointed sip. She was silent for a few more seconds. I exhaled and screwed the lid back on. 

 

She sighed, caving a few seconds later. Ellie -1, Gen - 0. “Dad wants us to meet him for dinner tomorrow night, instead of brunch. He has a meeting in D.C. that was scheduled last minute.”

 

I frowned. Of course he did. And it was just like him to expect us to bend over backwards to fit into his schedule. He knew that I worked nights at the bar, and that the only reason that I agreed to attend Sunday brunches was that it gave me an excuse to wake up and get things done before I went into work. 

 

Gen say the expression on my face and rolled her eyes. “Ellie, it’s just dinner. It’s not a death sentence.”

 

I actually let out a laugh at that, breaking my vow of silence for the moment. To say that my father and I weren’t on the best of terms was a steep understatement, and both Gen and I knew that. Her bringing this up and expecting me to go along with it was nothing short of comical. I shook out the mass of kinky red curls framing my head. “It kinda feels like it. Plus, if I miss work, there’s a chance I really will be dead.”

 

“You don’t need that job. Honestly, it’s a dump. Dad says that the best thing for you to do at this point is to go back to school and-” 

 

“I don’t care what he says and you know that.” This was an argument we’d had countless of times before and it was the exact thing I was trying to avoid tonight. “Look, Gen, I’m tired and I had a really long night, so can we please not do this right now?”

 

She was perched on the edge of the island, ready to hop off and follow me if need be, but when she heard my tone of voice, she relaxed back into her earlier position. Even though she was on our dad’s side for most decisions, Gen knew when she had gone too far on a subject. Especially when it came to my life decisions and how they fit into our life as it was now. As I grabbed my bag and headed towards the hallway, she said quietly, her voice echoing gently in the spacious kitchen, “Just come. Please?”

 

I paused. “Let me sleep on it.”

 

She seemed to be content with that, as no more comments trailed after me as I headed up the steps to my room. The glass windows that lined our apartment shone with the lights of the city below and illuminated the walls with a kaleidoscope of twinkles. I stepped out of my sneakers when I reached the landing of the second floor, relishing the feel of soft carpet under my sore feet. As much as I hated the place sometimes, I couldn’t help appreciating the little luxuries it gave. I wandered down the hallway and passed multiple doors before I arrived at my room at the end of the hall, my hand pushing open the mahogany door. 

 

My room was the only sanctuary I had inside this glass box my father had bought for me and Gen to live in. He thought it would help with the bad blood between me and him, even though he himself didn’t live here. Little did he know that glass houses are all the better for seeing people as they truly are. 

 

Our father lived in his own penthouse further inside Manhattan, a proper housing arrangement for a United States senator. Apparently it’s easier for him to balance work and home life if they’re separated completely. He graciously provided his two daughters with housing a few miles away from his so it was close enough for him to keep watch on us, but far enough that we wouldn’t get in his way when it was imperative we shouldn’t. His only requirements for us living without complete parental control was that we show up for Sunday brunch at The Plaza, 11 o’clock on the dot, and he rarely ever deviated from that plan. When he did, I tried my best for an excuse not to show.  It’d been six years since we had all lived together, but that was another time and another place entirely. And while not ideal,  this situation better suited all of us in the end. I only saw him when I had to, and I expertly avoided him when I didn’t. I had practically turned it into an art by the time I was 18. 

 

I shimmied out of my jeans and pulled off my tank top, both puddling in a pile on the floor. Now that I was so close to rest, my body was feeling the brunt of the night’s work. The heels of my feet whined with every step, my shoulders cracked as I stretched my arms above my head; I felt about 80 years old and near death. It was almost like my body could have let out an audible sigh of relief as soon as I bundled up in my covers, wrapping myself in the plush cream fabric. I hated that it was so comfortable, but there were benefits to living with my father’s wealth that were sometimes too hard to ignore. 

 

Gen was right; I didn’t need my job at The Lucky Irishman. There was a time when I was completely content to live under my father’s endless money tree, with no consequences and no limit to how much I could spend. I would go out at all hours of the night, hitting up clubs & doing whatever drugs I could get my hands on. Sometimes I wouldn’t even make it home to my own bed until the next afternoon. Gen had just started college at Cornell and her classes helped distance herself from my crumbling lifestyle, playing the part of the well-groomed daughter while I took the role of Girl in a Downward Spiral. She would be studying for a chemistry final and I’d stumble inside with my arms around a boy who had no business being with me. They were always too innocent, too gentle, and that made me want them even more. I showed them a good time and before they even had the chance to ask my name, I pushed them out the door. And every morning when they would walk out with their tail between their legs, Gen was always there to give me a disapproving look before heading off to school. We used to be close, her and I, but all of that disappeared after what happened. Mostly from my own undoing. 

 

Though my body was perfectly at ease in my cocoon of fabric, my mind wouldn’t stop racing. The conversation I had with James, or Bucky as Steve had called him, had been so… bizarre. Not to mention that he also had a  _ metal arm _ . Something about Steve seemed a bit off too, the more I thought about it. My head swirled with the memories of it all and it was a miracle at all that I was able to fall asleep at some point that night.

 

I woke to my alarm blaring and shoved my pillow farther down over my head. I knew it was probably the only one of my three alarms I’d set the night before that actually managed to wake me, but my bed was a excellent seductress. I made it through about two more minutes of my alarm sounding through my room with an ambulance-like urgency before I rolled over and unlocked my phone, sighing at the sweet release it gave my ears. My body slumped, still sore from last night and I was almost tempted to lie back down. Until I saw that it was 3 in the afternoon. 

 

“Shit, shit, _shit_ ,” I cursed, jumping out from under my covers. My mind was almost too frantic to even direct my feet to the bathroom and I tripped over many a stray shoe as I made the journey. If I even wanted to think about taking a shower, I would need to do it within the next five seconds or the rest of my day would be already upon me. I ran over a mental to-do list, almost throwing my toothbrush in my mouth and I ranked the items in order of importance, or at least in an order that I could finish within the next three hours. There was that hamper of dirty clothes I needed to take down to the laundromat, I hadn’t gone grocery shopping in a while, and… I paused and spit into the sink.

 

Gen and Dad. A family dinner. Tonight. Closing my eyes, I let out a loud groan into the silence of my bathroom. I didn’t even want to think about asking Mo for the night off, especially after I had basically given a bottle of vodka away for free. I mean, I knew we had scheduled enough people to carry on the night shift without me, but I really didn’t want to sit through a stiff dinner with my father at a restaurant that’s average food was way too overpriced and portioned too small. The last time we all sat down to eat that wasn’t brunch at The Plaza… well, it’d be a understatement to say that it didn’t end well. Actually, it ended with me calling my sister a “bitch” and my father a “asshole” in front of our appropriately scandalized waitress. 

 

I sighed. In the back of my mind, a voice was saying that going to the dinner would be the nice thing to do, at least for Gen. A small knot of guilt beginning to grow in the pit of my stomach and I knew that it would only get worse as the day wore on. I checked my phone again, looking at the time and shrugged off my t-shirt. 

 

New plan of attack: take a shower, do laundry, buy groceries and then put on a goddamn dress. I was going to the dinner from Hell. 

  
  


* * * *

 

“C’mon, Mo. Please?” 

 

He sighed and pulled up his dreadlocks into sort of bun on the top of his head. “You’re my best bartender. It’s not like it’s easy for me to just let you off work.”

 

“I know. But it’s a Sunday and we only really get the hardcore drunks.” I leaned against the counter, clasping my hands together in a pleading gesture. “Please, Mo, pleeeeease.”

 

Mo nodded at a few customers walking into the bar and busied himself with shining a glass. Great, the silent treatment. 

 

“I’ll do some extra work around the bar. And I’ll give you 10% of my tips for the next month.”

 

Mo glanced sideways at me. My boss was a big man, well over six foot, and he had been a bit of boxer back in his younger days. Just by looking at him you knew that he wasn’t someone to mess with. I’d seen him give countless of other bartenders the boot with one glare and for the first time since I worked there, I was nervous about receiving the same treatment. We locked eyes for a few moments. I held my breath. 

 

Finally he relented, setting down the glass. “You’ll mop the men’s bathroom until it’s so clean I could lick the floor. And I want 20% for the next two months. Got it?”

 

“Yes, sir.” I mock saluted him and it earned me a smile that I returned. “Thanks, Mo.”

 

“Don’t mention it.” He waved me away, to which I responded by grabbing my purse and heading towards the exit. The deal we had made wasn’t the best, but hey, at least it gave me a clear conscience. Almost.

 

About halfway to the door, I heard Mo’s voice call back to me. “I hope you don’t think I didn’t notice that empty bottle of vodka hidden behind the syrups.”

 

I turned back around, trying to look as sheepish as possible. “Remember when you said two minutes ago that I was your best bartender?”

 

“You better go before I change my mind.” 

  
  


* * * *

  
  


I had just enough cash in my purse to pay the cab driver as he pulled onto Schermerhorn Street in Brooklyn, and I handed it to him as I hopped out into the street, ignoring the blares of horns from other taxis. My hands smoothed out the skirt of my dress, making sure that it wasn’t pulling a Marilyn Monroe on me as I made my way to the sidewalk and in front the entrance of the Chef’s Table at Brooklyn Fare. It was a smaller restaurant, only seating 18 people at a time, but apparently highly rated, considering that it charges a minimum of three hundred and six dollars for a single meal. Only the best for Arthur Bennett and his two daughters. 

 

The elegantly dressed hostess smiled at me as I entered. “Name, please?”

 

“Eleanor Bennett.” I reached a hand up self-consciously to check and see if I had lost an earring in my haste to get here. Our dinner reservation, Gen had texted me earlier, was scheduled at 8 and I had just barely made it in time. By barely, I mean about three minutes before I was supposed to be there and I knew Gen was about to have a fit if I didn’t show soon. 

 

“Alright, Ms. Bennett. The rest of your party is just this way.” She smiled that polite but welcoming grin again, and motioned for me to follow her to where Gen and Dad were seated. I smoothed out my dress again, and swallowed as made my way after her. No matter how many fancy dinners I attended, I always felt like I didn’t belong, like I was putting on a disguise and hoping that it was enough to fool people into thinking I was just like everyone else. 

 

I forced a smile to my face when I saw them. Gen looked gorgeous, as always, with her hair curled slightly at the ends and dressed in a navy blue cocktail dress that was the perfect shade for her skin tone. She grinned as she spotted me and from her expression, I could tell that she had been almost positive that I wouldn’t show. Our father sat next to her, and my smile faltered as I turned to face him. He was immaculately dressed, clothed in a suit that was no doubt tailored to fit his frame exactly, and his greying hair was perfectly styled without a strand out of place. Arthur Bennett exuded power and excellence. But as his daughter, I knew better than to fall for appearances. 

 

He stood as I approached and spread open his arms, inviting me to give him a hug. “Eleanor. I’m glad you could join us.”

 

I swallowed and forced myself to wrap an arm around him in greeting. “Hey, Dad.”

 

Gen quickly hugged me as soon as I had let go of our father, and whispered in my ear. “I’m was beginning to think that you weren’t going to make it.” 

 

“Well, I’m here. As requested.” I didn’t even bother to lower my voice as I said it, knowing full well it wasn’t what Gen had wanted me to say or what volume she had wanted me to reply in. She managed to hide her grimace as she sat back down, crossing her legs in true lady-like fashion. 

 

A waiter who looked no more than nineteen came to fill our glasses with Merlot, and while he did, Dad leaned back in his chair. “Genevieve, tell me, how are your classes coming at Cornell? I’ve heard that the medical college there is quite challenging.” 

 

I reached for my glass and took a long sip of wine, grateful that his attention wasn’t on me for the moment. Gen straightened her posture as she answered, delivering a response that could have been published in an educational pamphlet for recruiting students to study at Cornell. Articulate and informational, but not much that it tended to stray from the main point. Our father nodded when she finished, his lips lifting at the corners to show how proud he was of his eldest child. He entertained himself with asking Gen a few more questions about her education, which gave me more chances to finish off my first glass, until he unfortunately turned his gaze to me. “Eleanor, your sister tells me that you still haven’t resumed your studies at Columbia.”

 

I set my glass down just as the first course arrived. “Well, I’m sort of otherwise occupied at the moment. Not much room for school.”

 

“I don’t see what could be more important than your education.” He sighed as he set his napkin almost daintily across his lap. “If this is because you’re spending too much time at that bar-”

 

“It’s my job, Dad. It’s not like I go there for fun.”

 

He took a few bites of his food, chewing it and thinking it over before answering again. “Excuse me for thinking so, Eleanor. It’s not like your past has been clean of that behavior.”

 

My body tensed in the already too stiff chair I was sitting in. Genevieve, though sometimes one to relish being the favorite, jumped in to change the subject and I silently sent her my thanks. Dad had never brought up my past actions before, at least not in public. He didn’t like his private life not appearing perfect in every way when it was displayed to the nation, especially when it came to me. Every time I would act out, he would have some excuse as to why I did, or at the very least he would pay the press exorbitant amounts of money to keep them quiet. 

 

No more words had been shared between me and my father by the time dessert arrived, and I wasn’t in the mood to do anything more than poke at the caramelized surface of my  crème brûlée with my spoon. I glanced at a clock stationed on the opposite wall and sighed when I saw that it was almost 11. What I would do to go back home and head to bed early for once. 

 

“Eleanor.” I didn’t even want to look at him, already hearing the disapproval in his voice. “I want you to register for classes for this coming spring semester. I’ve tolerated enough of your shenanigans and it’s time that you get your life back on the right path.”

 

My grip on the spoon tightened. “I don’t have the money to pay for classes.”

 

A sigh punctuated the air. “Of course you do. There’s no reason that you should be off wasting your time with a low-wage job when you could be working towards your degree.”

 

“Dad, I think Ellie’s tired. She was up pretty late last night, so I don’t know if this is the best time to discuss-” Gen tried to cut in, always the peacemaker, but I sliced off the end of her sentence.

 

“I need that job because I don’t have any money of my own. And I’m done with taking yours.” I set down my spoon and looked up at him pointedly, my cheeks beginning to burn. 

 

Dad’s frown deepened. He dabbed at the corner of his mouth with his cloth napkin before setting it down on the table, and said while looking completely disinterested, “You need to grow up, Eleanor. I’m done with this…” he waved his hand through the air dismissively, “ ..charade that you’ve been carrying on for the past few years. Your mother would have wanted better for you and I’m not going to disappoint her”

 

I could feel the words bubbling up in my chest, potent and red hot. Mom was a topic of conversation that he knew very well not to mention and he had blatantly crossed over that line, even looking like it didn’t bother him. He was used to pushing the boundaries while in Senate meetings, and confindantly assumed his tactics would work the same with his daughters. Fuck that. 

 

“Like hell you would know what she wanted.” I stood from the table, grabbing my purse a bit too harshly for being in a public space. Gen flinched back from my motion and closed her eyes, preparing herself for the onslaught about to come. She had gone through too many a dinner like this to not know better. 

 

“Sit down. We’re not finished discussing the matter at hand-” Dad’s frown turned into a grimace and his eyes briefly flickered to the tables around us, always worrying about his image. 

 

“Yes. Yes we are.” I glared at him for a moment, wanting to hurt him with a better response than that. Instead I turned on my heel without another word and started to make my way towards the exit, apologizing to the servers whose paths I infiltrated. _Let him stew over that remark_ , I thought as I walked out onto the sidewalk again, feeling a bit more liberated than I had in days. Not to mention, I felt a little nauseous too, as I usually did after doing something to piss off my dad. 

 

Like with Gen, he and I hadn’t always been on bad terms with each other. There was a time when I was actually excited to see him after he came back from D.C, a time when he kissed my mother when he entered the door and looked at her like she held the stars in her eyes. It was a time of happiness and love and I thought that maybe things would be like that forever.

 

But that was a different world. Now, I was settled with this one. 

 

I don’t know how long I walked along the sidewalk, lost in thought as I went over dinner again and again in my head. What snapped me out of it was how badly my feet hurt from the goddamn heels I had decided to wear for once. They’d been a birthday present to me from Gen when I had turned 19. I hadn’t taken them out of the box until tonight, and now I was regretting it. A peace offering turned sour, just like everything else. 

 

I looked around at where I was and realized I didn’t recognize any of the buildings around me. It was a residential part of Brooklyn, full of apartments and brownstones with soft lights radiating from some of the windows, and I felt a pang somewhere inside my chest. They looked welcoming, as if you could just walk inside one and feel right at home. The complete opposite of the modern penthouses in Manhattan, where it felt that if you even set foot inside you were going to soil every surface. It made me sad, knowing that my home was so far away from these and yet, it didn’t feel like home as much as they did. 

 

Pulling my phone out of my purse, I unlocked it only to see that I had no battery life. I swallowed forcibly to stop a scream from jumping out and closed my eyes. _You_ ' _re overreacting, Ellie. Just hail a fucking cab._  I marched myself over to the side of the street to hunt down a taxi and let out a groan when I realized that this particular street apparently didn’t have an overflow of traffic at this time of night. Awesome.

 

My feet were screaming at me to sit down and, too frustrated to do anything else, I listened and plopped myself down on the steps leading up to one of the brownstones, tugging at the bobby pins I had put in my hair to make my curls look somewhat presentable. I managed to retrieve about six of them and was working on a particularly stubborn one when I heard a door slam shut behind me. Footsteps started to pound down the steps but stopped before they reached me, a silent question as to why I was sitting there. Not to mention that I had my hands stuck fist deep into my hair. 

 

Pulling my hands away quickly, I stood to turn and apologize for being on their property, but before I got the chance, a rough voice asked me, “What are you doing here?”

 

I paused, my forehead wrinkling. I knew that voice. Turning around quickly, I looked up to see the guy who wandered into the bar last night. James, or Bucky or whatever. He seemed just as surprised to see me and raised an eyebrow as I stood there staring back at him. I grasped at something to say in response, the first thing being, “What are _you_  doing here?”

 

“I live here.” He looked unamused.

 

I could practically feel my cheeks flushing red. “Right. That makes sense… that you live here. Since you came out the front door and all.”  _ Oh my god, shut up before you say anything else dumb. _

 

“Yeah…” He gave me a kinda funny look and then reached into his back pocket, pulling out a package of cigarettes. Tugging one out, he held it between his teeth as he lit it and then took a long drag. A curl of smoke danced into the air when he finished, floating up against the backdrop of the night sky.

 

I wrinkled my nose. “You know, smoking kills you eventually.”

 

“So do a lot of things.” He went in for another drag and blew out string of smoke, directed away from where I stood. “You didn’t answer my question.”

 

I leaned against the wall lining the steps and sighed, going back to work on the bobby pin still stuck in my hair. “I got lost, my phone died, and I can’t hail a goddamn cab in this part of town.”

 

He snorted. “Sounds like you’re in a pickle, there.”

 

“No shit, Sherlock.”

 

The guy I met last night would’ve laughed at something like that. All he did this time was focus on his cigarette and stare out at the street, his mind obviously elsewhere. His change in character was a little unnerving, considering I wrote him off as crazy the last time I saw him. There had been alcohol involved but still, the guy in front of me right now was definitely not as charming as the guy at the bar. 

 

I cocked my head to the side to look at him. “So,  _ Bucky _ , is it? That a nickname?”

 

He seemed to recognize his words being thrown back at him from the last time we met, and crushed the end of his cig into the side of the building. “Short for Buchanan, my middle name.”

 

“That’s what your boyfriend called you, right?”

 

He looked over at me for a moment, and then tossed the butt of his cigarette off into the bushes, leaning against the wall opposite me. “Steve’s not my boyfriend. Best friend, but not boyfriend.”

 

“He was kinda acting like one, to be fair.” I tugged at the skirt of my dress, the fabric clinging uncomfortably to my legs in the warm air. 

 

“Steve is a good friend. I look out for him and he looks out for me.” He sighed, his eyes moving back towards the door he came from. “He’s more than I deserve anyway.”

 

I shrugged. “You don’t seem like a bad guy. Though from what you told me last night, I can’t say how sane you are.”

 

He tensed at that, snapping his eyes back towards me. “I didn’t mean to tell you any of that.”

 

“Look, it’s not a big deal. I wasn’t gonna say anything-”

 

“Good.” He cut me off, and moved his left arm slightly behind his body, as if protecting it from me. Even from the angle I was at, I could see he was wearing a glove over his hand to cover the metal. I wanted to ask why he was so upset about telling me those things in the first place, but I didn’t have it in me to push the conversation any further. 

 

“Well, I should probably get off your steps.” I stepped out onto the sidewalk, my feet aching in protest as I did. “Sorry for bothering you.”

 

I made it about five steps away from him before he said, “I could give you a ride, if you need one.” He paused after he said it, maybe not sure he should have. “You’re not gonna get a cab around here for a while.”

 

I flipped back around to face him, crossing my arms. “Thanks, but I don’t wanna owe you any favors. I’m all out of IOU’s.”

 

He shrugged at my blatant response. “I already owe you one, for drinking all that liquor.”

 

“Technically you owe the bar, not me.”

 

He sighed. “It’s only right for me to get you home safe.” Making his way down the steps, he nodded towards a motorcycle that was parked a few feet down from us on the side of the street. It was an older model, but it was obvious that whoever owned it took very good care of it. 

 

I swallowed as I noticed that there was only one helmet hanging from the handles. “You don’t really seem like the type of guy to care about safety.”

 

He only shrugged again and sat down on the leather seat, holding the helmet out to me. It took me a few moments to really process all that was happening, but soon enough my feet gave in from the pain and led me towards the bike. The corner of his mouth lifted a fraction when I took the helmet from his outstretched hand, and he moved up a little to let me hop on behind him. 

 

“If you kill me, I’ll come back and haunt your ass.” I muttered as I wrapped my arms around his waist. The muscles I felt under his sweatshirt rippled in what I guessed was a silent chuckle and underneath us, the bike rumbled to life. 

 

He pulled forward onto the street, causing me to tighten my grip around him and he looked back at me in amusement. “I would say hold on tight, but it seems you got that part down.” Before I could even muster up a retort, he gunned the engine and we sped out into the night.


End file.
